158 REMINISCENCES OF A HUNTSMAN. 



Harrogate. Harrogate and some others I gave to 

 the Duke of Grafton, knowing that under George 

 Carter they would be well cared for and rendered 

 happy, their use and beautiful attainments in the 

 field being thoroughly knoAvn to their huntsman. 

 One of the bitches, a one-year hunter, that I sold to 

 Mr.Wilkins, returned home in a few days, and never 

 would remain in his kennel. Poor dear old Harro- 

 gate ! the noble hound is fresh in my remembrance 

 now. He died at a good old age here at Beacon 

 Lodo-e, and assisted me to kill the first brace of otters 

 I ever found in the New Forest. In my mind's eye 

 I see him now come flashing out into the ride in 

 Puddington great Hayes, on the second cub he had 

 ever seen found. We had killed one that morning in 

 Colworth Thick; the cub was beaten, turning very 

 short, and Harrogate had evidently just had a view 

 at him. He dashed into the ride, his stern lashing 

 his sides in his beautiful style of hunting, and looked 

 up and down for the cub, and then into cover again. 

 Harrogate entered at once, as almost all the Berkeley 

 Castle-bred litters do, and for this reason — their 

 walks are full of hares and rabbits, and they begin to 

 hunt as soon as they can run. What beautiful, jolly 

 things those puppies are ! I give the reader a picture 

 of them. It is a beautiful autumn eve in September, 

 the weather like summer, as if that season, seated 

 on the blue mountains of Wales, and the nearer 

 hills of the Forest of Dean, robed in the rays of the 

 western sun, was takino- a last lino-erino; look on the 

 ruddy Severn and the deep rich emerald vale beyond. 

 The banner on the Castle tower sleeps around its 

 stafi^, or idly stirs as the congregating wings of 

 swallows and martens, with their merry chirping, 



